The Song of the Hat
by Gothelittle Rose
Summary: After generations of hard work, the Sorting Hat believes that its job is at an end, and students should no longer be separated by Houses. It attempts to influence a group of students to find a way to destroy it.
1. Chapter 1: Lineage

Author's note: This is not officially a NaNoWriMo story. However, I am going to endeavor to put 1500 words on it (more or less) each day during the month of November. I have some scenes blocked out and others completely un-created, so this is going to be a bit slap-dash, probably with some Mary Sue and Marty Stu characters in it. I've also never written a Harry Potter fanfiction before, so we'll see how it goes!

Though I will endeavor to make the word limit each day, I am a homeschooling mom of three, one of them an infant. So we'll see how it goes.

Chapter start:

Roughly fifteen years after the Fall of Voldemort, Drucella Bulstrode received her letter for Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her mother was as terrified as her father was pleased.

Her mother, Millicent Bulstrode, never truly began to shine until her sixth year at Hogwarts. She had been overweight as a child and made painfully aware that she was considered ugly. She had a large frame and an aggressive personality which, in her younger years, expressed itself mostly in physical action. Millicent was not a naturally gifted witch, and she struggled with spellwork. Of course, to her peers, even in her own house, that made her "stupid" as well as "ugly", and many Slytherins privately puzzled or outwardly asked her why she had not been placed in Hufflepuff.

In her fifth year, Millicent learned a great deal. She became one of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, and for the first time, she had power that she didn't have to hit someone to obtain. Her own ostracization ultimately protected her from the thirst for more power because she learned that it did not give her what she truly wanted… acceptance. When she saw what became of Umbridge afterwards, she learned the dangers of having raw power in places where the majority still opposed you. In her sixth year, she saw a different kind of Slytherin in Professor Slughorn, and decided that she would much rather have respect than power. Having no particular animus against half-bloods or Death Eaters, she ultimately did not end up taking either side during the seventh year Battle for Hogwarts. She simply left with the rest of the Slytherins and did not return.

Once the war was over, Millicent recommended to her family and other pure-blood families that it would be better to remain quiet and keep a low profile than to rush out proclaiming their heavy support for this new group of people in charge of the Ministry and Hogwarts and, especially, their decision to utterly abandon their previous unfortunate associations with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Few people bothered to listen to this just-graduated "ugly stupid girl". She experienced her first moment of pure schadenfreude when many of those families wound up being greatly reduced in circumstances as the Ministry levied large fines for having supported Voldemort and his path of destruction in the first place. Millicent began seeking ways to shrewdly invest through Gringott's in reconstruction efforts, hoping to increase her own situation if she could. Then the one thing happened to her that she never thought possible… she received an offer of marriage.

Virgo Lestrange, mostly-forgotten son of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, had been shipped off to Durmstrang for his education. His parents had very little regard for him, as they were far too busy with their Death Eater duties and then, later on, serving long sentences in Azkaban. They merely wanted him out of the way and well away from Dumbledore's influence. He had a childhood in which nobody had ever encouraged him to exert himself, and so he preferred idleness. He came into the rather large Lestrange fortune upon his graduation, and spent several years realizing just how much everybody hated his family before he sought comfort in solitude… and in a woman who could make up for his perpetual lackings. It seemed more like a business proposition to Millicent than a love affair. He had a fortune and wished a life of ease; she was shrewd and tough and wanted a fortune to manage. When they married, he took her last name and withdrew almost entirely from society. Meanwhile, her frequent trips to Gringott's and careful business dealings earned her what she told herself she wanted most… respect. Yet still, something was lacking.

When Millicent delivered her first baby, a little girl, she was a little worried. Surely Virgo wanted sons, especially first-born sons, and here he had a daughter instead. Virgo showed no sign of hesitation in embracing his child, and Millicent breathed a sigh of relief. Little Esmerelda, Esme for short, drew out the best in her father. He spent hours with her, showing her little baby things and talking to her, leaving his wife free to continue her search for respect and betterment of their wealth. Esme grew to be a beautiful little girl with heavy-lidded eyes and dark, tumbled hair, taller than many and slender in a way that her mother could never be.

Millicent became pregnant again, and felt a stab of real fear for the first time since her childhood as she looked at a very familiar face. This baby was also a girl, and Millicent feared that her daughter was going to suffer as she did under the scorn of those who believed that "ugly" could not be "clever". Like with her first, she also worried that her husband wanted a boy. Virgo again showed no hesitation and embraced the baby, then smiled and spoke words that awakened and satisfied a longing that Millicent didn't even realize she'd still had… "She has your beautiful eyes."

Drucilla, nicknamed Drucy, grew to be a cheerful little girl, short and with her mother's thicker frame. Her small blue eyes and round face, however, were graced with a short crop of black ringlets, and she looked 'cute' rather than 'thick'. What concerned her mother, however, was that Drucy seemed utterly guileless in a world that would not be friendly to a pure-blood Slytherin-heavy family… for Esme obediently entered Hogwarts at age eleven and was almost immediately added to that House. Millicent wondered if it might be better to send her to Durmstrang rather than risk having the child of a Bulstrode and a Lestrange wind up trying to advance in Hufflepuff. Virgo unexpectedly spoke up strongly and overruled her. The child would go to Hogwarts, and she would be fine.

Then, one day, little Drucy noticed a snake in the garden. Instead of shying away, she held out her hand and hissed at it…


	2. Chapter 2: Diagon Alley

_"We have to talk," said the Hat._

_"No, we don't," answered Headmistress McGonagall simply, as she continued to write out a message on the desk in her office. Silence reigned, except for the scratching of her quill on the parchment._

_"I'm a relic," said the Hat. "The House system is wrong. It divides us. If not for the quarrel between Salazar and Godric, House rivalry may not have become so strong. But the Battle for Hogwarts convinced me… the House system is wrong."_

_McGonagall continued to write, apparently ignoring the Hat._

_"I've been mis-Sorting students," the Hat persisted. _

_McGonagall's quill paused._

_"Peter Pettigrew, for example," the Hat continued. "What about him possibly seemed Gryffindorian to you? I wanted to see what would happen, if bravery could be encouraged in a boy who was quite bereft of it. I'm afraid that one didn't work out so well."_

_The quill resumed its journey across the parchment._

_"Are you writing to Neville Longbottom?" the Hat queried. "Now I could tell you about him…"_

_"Shut up," McGonagall grumbled. One of the portraits giggled quietly. She ignored it and continued to write._

_"I've been mis-Sorting for generations," the Hat started after another long pause, during which McGonagall slipped her wand into her hand. "For instance-"_

_"_Silencio_," McGonagall snapped, and the Hat became quiet._

"Now what are you supposed to remember?" Drucy's mother asked her, just after they stepped out of the fireplace leading to Diagon Alley.

"No Parseltongue," Drucy dutifully recited. "Don't draw attention to myself. And avoid strangers."

Drucy loved both of her parents very much, but she preferred to spend time with her father. He was calm, easy-going, and didn't fuss over things she didn't even understand. Her mother was stricter, and somehow Drucy always felt as if she was about to say the wrong thing when with her. This time, though, her big sister Esme was with them as well, and Esme had a way of making things easier. She patiently explained matters to Drucy, providing a bridge between her and their mother. Right now, for instance, she winked at Drucy and squeezed her hand just a little in encouragement.

Esme was a Big Girl, entering her fourth year at Hogwarts, and Drucy thought she knew everything. But… Drucy wasn't sure she liked her sister being away at school. It was nice to have her father's uninterrupted attention, but she could have done without her mother's extra scrutiny, and Esme had seemed different ever since she'd come home the first time. She was more distant, didn't spend as much time with the family, and talked frequently of a boy Drucy had come to hate because Esme seemed to like him so much… a boy who seemed to gain the favor of everybody in Slytherin and many other Houses besides. Now it was Drucy's turn to start at Hogwarts, and her first thought was to find out just what was taking her sister away from her.

For now, though… Drucy looked down the street in excitement. This time, she was going to be the "princess of the day", being given her brand new setup for Hogwarts, measured for robes, and given her very own wand. Her mother had an old wand with a dragon heartstring that had been passed down through the generations, and she planned to have it fixed up, either recored or re-wooded, depending on which part of the family wand was better, just for her younger daughter's use. Though a wand carelessly handed down to a younger sibling tended to be weaker than a new one, those who could afford to have an heirloom wand refurbished by Ollivander (or, increasingly, his assistant) were very lucky indeed. Drucy felt quite important, even though she knew that it would be a while before she was actually able to start shopping. Her mother, as usual, had to make a stop at Gringott's first.

It was a cloudy day, cooler than usual for late summer, with a distinct scent in the air that suggested a possibility of rain later on. Drucy begged her mother to be allowed to sit in the gazebo near the ice cream parlor instead of following her into Gringotts. She far preferred the little corner of nature to huge marble columns and goblins chattering endlessly about interests and financings and all sorts of stuff that interested her sister far more than herself. Esme interceded as well, and Drucy was allowed to sit quietly in the gazebo while her mother and sister entered that huge, gleaming building where their fortune lay.

"Ok," Drucy said quietly as she leaned back on the bench. "You can come out for a moment, it's safe." From inside her pretty blue robes, a small, emerald green snake slowly emerged. It wound around her arm and up into one of the vines climbing the bars of the gazebo. "It's going to be a long day for you," she told it. "And you'll have to keep quiet. When we're home, I'll give you some extra time in the garden." She had picked up this particular 'pet' weeks ago and was very carefully concealing its existence from her mother. Her mother 'freaked out' whenever she caught Drucy playing with snakes.

"What are you doing?" Another voice startled Drucy and she turned, glad that the little snake's green scales blended in reasonably well with the viney foliage. A boy stood there, about her age, wearing Muggle clothing. "Why are you making that funny sound?"

"Who are you?" Drucy asked in return, her voice a little sharp with a sudden nervousness. Had he seen her snake? Did he realize she was talking to it? "What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to be here, I think," the boy told her. "I'm a wizard." He said this proudly; hand on his hip, head up. Then the pride melted quickly into wry amusement. "I just found out a few days ago. It was kind of a shock to my parents."

Why would it be a shock to his parents? Weren't they… Drucilla looked at the boy's clothing and realized that she knew why. "You're Muggle-born, aren't you?"

"That depends," the boy told her cautiously. "What's a Muggle?"

Drucy gave the boy a quick primer on the heritage of wizards… pure-blood, half-blood, Muggle-born, and Squibs. "My sister says that the Hogwarts teachers told her that Squibs often marry into Muggle families, and then the magical ability springs out where it's not expected. I guess that's what must have happened to you. Are you going to Hogwarts, then?"

"According to my letter," the boy told her. He had taken a seat across from her during her explanation. He paused for a moment, then grinned. "Let's try this again. Hi. I'm Daniel Jacobs. And your name is?"

"Drucy Bulstrode. What kind of a name is 'Daniel'?"

"What kind of a name is 'Drucy'?" he returned easily. She looked at him again, noticing details she hadn't before. His hair was dark and rumpled. His clothing looked worn, his… leg things… torn at the knee. He had a bit of defiance in his posture, as if he was used to being challenged. "'Drucy' is short for Drucilla," she told him, a bit of defiance coming into her own posture.

"What kind of name is Drucilla?" he persisted, looking amused.

"It's a perfectly good wizarding name," Drucy retorted. "What are you doing here by yourself? Are y our parents at Gringott's?"

Daniel shook his head. "Dad brought me, but he stopped at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink," he said, an odd tone in his voice. "He's probably having another. Maybe another. I'm going to wait for him a while longer, but then I'll just go get my own stuff." The bravado resurfaced. "I can get my own stuff. I've done it before."

Drucy could read between the lines. She also completely lacked her sister's guile. "He's getting drunk," she said plainly.

From the look on Daniel's face, she thought at first that he might hit her. Her eyes widened. She'd never had anybody react like that to her before. Then he relaxed and nodded grimly. "Basically. Hey. If you weren't cute, I wouldn't have let you get away from that."

Cute? Really? Drucy felt immediately affronted for reasons she couldn't quite figure out. "If you keep that up," she informed him icily, "I will go away."

"Aw, no, don't," Daniel smiled again. "I'm sorry, you're not cute." That infuriated her. He was laughing at her! She suddenly wanted to hit him now, and she even drew back her fist before she realized what she was doing. He chuckled. "Go ahead, I deserved it. Give me your best shot."

Drucy shook her head, lowering her fist, rising to her feet. "I am not going to strike you," she told him in that same frigid tone. She reached out her hand to the vine, and her snake slipped obediently onto her hand and into her sleeve. Unfortunately, this caught Daniel's attention again. "Is that a snake?" he asked, his voice changing to enthusiasm. "Cool! Can I see? I'll be gentle. Please?"

His tone mollified her, and she settled down to show him the snake. "It's ok," she told it very quietly. "Go ahead."

He watched in wonder as it transferred itself to his arm, looking up into his face. "What a beauty," he said quietly. "You were hissing at it again. Why were you doing that? Can wizards talk to snakes?"

Drucy wanted to swear. "Oops," she finally said, furious at herself and horrified at his realization. "Please don't tell anyone. My mother told me not to do it in public. Uh, some wizards can talk to snakes. But it's rare, and… please don't tell."

She was afraid that he was going to make a joke, or hold a threat over her head. To her surprise, his face turned quite serious. "I won't tell," he said. "I promise I won't." He held out his hand, and the snake transferred back to her arm. Then it quickly slithered back into her robes, where she could feel it taking back its nice warm spot on her shoulder. She knew that it liked the dark warmth.

"Drucy! What are you doing?" Her mother's sharp tone cut the air, and Drucy turned to see her striding up to the gazebo with Esme in tow. "Talking to strangers!"

Before Drucy could speak, the boy had left the gazebo. He met her mother halfway and attempted a bow. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bulstrode," he told her with a bright smile. "My name is Daniel Jacobs, and I will be one of your daughter's classmates at Hogwarts this year. She was kindly telling me a little about the wonders that await me within the wizarding community." Drucy watched wide-eyed. She'd never seen a kid try to charm her mother like that before.

"Muggle-born, aren't you?" her mother replied, just barely keeping the sharpness out of her voice. Daniel took this far better than Drucy had anticipated.

"Yes ma'am, I know it's written on my forehead," he said wryly, but not without humor. With another bow, he turned and walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Drucy staring wide-eyed in mild horror, her mother watching with her mouth in a thin line, and Esme shaking with silent laughter.


	3. Chapter 3: The Wand Chooses the Wizard

"You want to what?" Millicent Bulstrode asked her youngest daughter unbelievingly.

"I want to help that boy Daniel," Drucy repeated nervously. "He's just starting out, Mom, and he doesn't have anything. Did you see his… leg… things? Torn, and unpatched. His father drinks – he didn't want to admit it, but I figured it out."

"Those 'leg things' are called jeans, Drucy," Esme said patiently. She turned to her mother, shrugging. "It can't hurt, Mom. We have plenty. He's going to be a classmate of hers anyways. There's got to be a way we can help him out a little without embarrassing him, right?"

Millicent took a moment longer to think, a distant look in her eyes, her lips pressed into a line. Then she smiled, and Drucy couldn't help but smile back. "Alright, Drucy. I got you plenty of Galleons for equipment… but if you're willing to share, so be it. I'll add some of my own, but you will have to fund some of his equipment yourself. If you're willing to do that, then so be it. It's about time you learned how to think about money, and this seems like as good a reason as any."

Drucy had never done much handling of money before, beyond simply handing it over for whatever she wanted. She knew that her mother had been trying to teach her frugality and financing, but she really was not interested at all. This desire, however, to help that poor boy, energized her into action. For the first time, she found herself actually looking at book prices at Flourish and Blotts. There were a few texts she wanted to add to her little personal library besides her textbooks, but she found herself choosing carefully among them and only plunking half of her originally intended list on the counter. "Please," she told the shopkeeper quietly as she pulled out her purse. "There's a boy my age who will probably be traveling alone. His name is Daniel Jacobs, and he's buying for Hogwarts. He doesn't have much money." She slid a couple of Galleons across the counter. "Please give him what he needs and, whatever he can pay, tell him it's enough."

She repeated this little ritual at everywhere they went… Madame Maulkin's , where her mother ordered the softer combed cotton for her and the slightly more expensive wand pocket on the inside, and even Potage's Cauldron Shop, where Drucy couldn't help feeling mildly disgruntled as she had to decide between helping the boy and being able to afford a Collapsible Cauldron for easier storage and carrying. Ultimately, her altruism won out, but not without mild regret. When it came time to buy her pet, however, she held out successfully by telling her mother that she wanted to wait until her second year, when she had a greater range of choices than the traditional owl, cat, or toad. She knew she would be foolish to try to explain to her mother how she had already bonded with her little green snake in such a way that she was not sure she could befriend another familiar.

At last, she and her mother entered Ollivander's shop. Esme had abandoned them, claiming that the dust in the shop made her sneeze, and Drucy quietly wished her sister was still there to provide moral support as her mother stepped up to the counter. A man about her age stood there, sprightly and tidy in dress robes. "Hogwarts student?" he asked kindly, looking at Drucy. "Here for a new wand?"

"Not quite," her mother replied, pulling out an ornate box and opening it to reveal the contents. "I was hoping to have this refurbished for her. It may need a new wood. The heartstring has been in the family for generations - her father's family - and she's been learning on it already."

"Ahh, an heirloom wand," the man said understandingly, taking hold of it. He closed his eyes for a moment, then called into the back. "Mr. Ollivander, I have an heirloom here and I think it's one of yours. Do you want to handle this one?"

With a slight shuffling, a very elderly wizard made his way into the room. He looked tired and worn, but his eyes lit up as he saw the wand. "Let me see," he said, taking hold of it with gnarled fingers. "Yes, indeed, I know this wand. It carries an heirloom core, a heartstring from a Hungarian Horntail. Particularly difficult dragon to slay, and a powerful… yes, yes, I remember this wand. I encased the core in walnut for Bellatrix Lestrange."

"I know it hasn't always had the best masters," Millicent Bulstrode explained. "It was good of Miss Granger to return it to us after the battle at Hogwarts." Drucy only half-heard the bitterness in her mother's voice. Her attention was drawn by the beautiful display wand in the window. It was a rich, golden brown, carved intricately. She looked at it with her hands tucked behind her back as the conversation went on behind her. "I thought if it was re-wooded, perhaps something a bit shorter and, well, kinder? My daughter is not very tall, and she is not aggressive."

"Can she use the heartstring?" Ollivander asked mildly, offering the wand back. "I heard you tell my apprentice that you have been using it as a teaching wand?"

"Certainly. Drucy!" Her mother's voice interrupted her study of the display wand, and Drucy turned obediently to the counter. "Show Mr. Ollivander what you have learned."

Drucy took the wand, with its old, familiar, dark surface and the mildly begrudging personality that she had known for years. "Lumos," she told it, and the tip glowed dimly. The glow faded as she offered it back to Ollivander.

"Yes, yes it does work for her," the aged wandmaker said thoughtfully. "It does not work very well, however. Did you notice the weakness of its response? It is possible that a new wood can help focus her temperament… it would be a shame to retire such an old core…"

Drucy was barely listening now. She had turned her gaze back to the display wand. It seemed… active, somehow. Bright. Young. Eager… and… "What are you doing?" her mother snapped, startling her, and only then did she realize that she had laid her hand gently on the wand.

"It's warm," Drucy said in surprise.

Her mother started to speak, but Ollivander motioned for silence. "It's alright, girl," he told her. "You can pick it up and take a look at it. Try it out."

Drucy carefully lifted out the wand and held it in her hand. It was definitely warm. Was her hand trembling? Or was the wand doing it on its own? She smiled at it, then raised it slightly. "Lumos," she said.

Nothing happened.

Ollivander turned back to her mother. "There, I was quite sure of that… no first-year is going to draw magic out of that wand. It is a special one, an experiment of mine. Nobody has yet shown an interest in it, and I am sure it will be a very special adult witch or wizard who finally…"

Drucy had stopped listening again. She couldn't understand what had happened. The wand was definitely young, eager, and willing. Still, she detected a slight hesitation, almost a fear, which she understood very well from befriending the snakes in the garden. She started speaking to it quietly and reassuringly. "It's alright. You want to do magic. I can tell. You want to travel. You want to work, and not sit in a display window. I can take you there, but it has to be my way. I have to learn at my pace, and you have to learn as well." Many pets responded well to this kind of psychology, a mixture of mastery and cajoling, but snakes seemed to prefer it especially well. She could even feel her pet snake shift under her robe as she spoke to the wand. Then she raised the wand and ordered it, almost sharply, "Lumos!"

A brilliant flash lit up the room.

Drucy blinked several times, shaking her head slightly, trying to clear her vision. In a moment, the glare had faded and she could see the wand in her hand, the tip blazing like a little star. She held it up slightly, and realized with astonishment that she could read some of the words written on the stacks of wand boxes surrounding the three… no, the four. Ollivander's apprentice had peeked into the room and was watching silently with the others. Drucy looked wide-eyed back at the wand tip again, and then shook her hand slightly. The light extinguished. "Lumos," she commanded again, and the wand obligingly lit without any theatrical flash. She shook it dark and spoke again, this time calmer, almost casual. "Lumos?" Again the shop was filled with wandlight.

Drucy looked up, expecting everybody to be pleased. The apprentice, however, had his mouth wide open as if he was a frog looking for an insect. Ollivander did not look as astonished, but he had a slight, almost puzzled frown on his face. Her mother, however, was so furious that she spoke with a harsher tone than Drucy had ever heard her use in public. "I told you not to do that here!"

What had she done? Drucy tried to figure out which of her mother's many commandments she had unwittingly flouted. Ollivander's next statement made it clear. "Your daughter," he said simply, "is a Parselmouth." After the way Drucy's mother had always scolded her for speaking to snakes, Drucy had come to believe that this was some sort of horrible crime, but Ollivander didn't sound perturbed. He sounded utterly calm… maybe slightly fascinated, as if he was studying a rare kind of wand.

"I didn't know," Drucy wailed, terrified at the look of fury on her mother's face. "I can't tell! I wasn't even talking to a snake, I don't even know how I did it!"

"I do," Ollivander responded, though her statement had not been directed to him. "I made that wand myself. I crafted it several years ago. English Oak, thirteen inches even, containing a core of crystalized Basilisk venom."

Everyone was still and silent for a long moment. Drucy's mother recovered first. "Go," she told Drucy icily. "Give me that, and wait outside for me. Now!"

Drucy had always promptly obeyed her mother in public before, but this time she found that she didn't dare. There was something strange about the wand she held. It was still trembling slightly, as if it was angry at her mother… as if it understood Drucy's frustration. "I-I don't want to," she said shakily. A number of gold and green sparks shot out from the wand's tip as Drucy desperately wanted to find the words to explain why. She didn't want to be disobedient, she didn't want to be a bad person, she just feared that the wand might somehow do something it shouldn't if she handed it over.

Again, Ollivander was the one who seemed to understand. "Give it to me, Drucilla," he told her gently. "It's alright. You can give it to me. I created it. It's safe." He held out his hand, and she slowly placed the wand in his grasp and slowly let go. Then, with another frightened glance at her mother, she turned and stepped out of Ollivander's shop.


	4. Chapter 4: Small Comforts

Drucilla sat in front of Ollivander's shop, disconsolate. She was tucked into the corner made by the picture window, looking up, expecting at any moment to see a hand replacing the basilisk wand on the cushion. She had been so excited this morning, so happy, and now everything had gone wrong. There were a couple of light, misty drops of rain which landed at her feet, and she felt as if tears would soon join them. Before she could indulge, she saw a tall man about her mother's age, maybe a little older, running up to the shop.

He skidded to a stop, peering through the window, then looked down at Drucy. He blinked in surprise. "Is everything ok in there?" he asked. "People saw some kind of bright flash, and there was some sort of shouting… I've only just gotten away to check…"

Drucy blinked back, looking at this curious fellow. He was wearing a top hat lopsided on his head, a bright purple hat that clashed horribly with his orange-red hair and his brilliantly green cloak. She looked back up at his freckled face and realized that, perhaps, she'd heard enough to guess who he was. "Did you come from 'Weasley Wizard Wheezes'?" she asked with interest. The place had looked and sounded interesting enough, but she somehow doubted that her mother would ever let her set foot in it. There was just something about the look in her eyes when she mentioned it that gave Drucy the feeling that it was one of "those places" where "polite families" did not go.

"Yeah," he replied. When she did not rise, he squatted down to her level, smiling. "We keep an eye on old Ollivander, especially since he was kidnapped several years ago. Everything's alright, then?"

"It was just me," Drucy told him, starting to feel the lump in her throat again. "I picked up the wrong wand, and it went off, and I guess I wasn't supposed to…"

"Now, now," the man said gently, smiling. "If it went off, then you're doing something _right_. So what's the hullaballoo about? Wand backfires aren't that big a deal, especially in _that_ shop."

"They say the wand picks the wizard," Drucy said wryly, "but I think it picked the wrong one. I wasn't supposed to be touching things, and then I picked it up and talked to it…"

"What's your name, honey?" the Weasely Wizard asked her kindly.

"Drucilla Bulstrode."

He nodded gravely. "Millicent Bulstrode's girl, eh? You haven't had an easy time of it, have you?" Drucy didn't respond, because she wasn't sure what to say. She suddenly wasn't entirely sure if he was talking about her parents or everyone else. She felt mildly affronted. "My parents are wonderful," she retorted staunchly. "I don't know what people seem to have against them, but my mom is strong and tough, and my dad is just sweet and kind."

"My apologies," he said easily. "I would like to have you smiling instead of frowning, my dear. Let me think…" He went through a theatrical patting of his robes before sweeping off his hat and offering her a small device. "This one, I think, will work for you."

Drucy was no longer looking at the device. When he took off his head, his untidy hair partly fell over a gap on the side of his head. "You're George Weasley," she said in surprise.

At first, Drucy silently berated herself for her lack of tact. She could hear her mother's voice in her head already. George, though, didn't seem bothered. "How did you guess? My signature clothing style? My effervescent personality? I know! The missing ear." He chuckled. "Not a problem, my dear, it is a rather stunning fashion statement." Then his face became shadowed for just a moment, as if remembering something sad. Drucy didn't want to embarrass herself again by asking the wrong thing, so she turned her attention to the little device, pressing the rather prominent button at the base. The device hummed quietly and started producing beautiful little spark showers of all colors, shaping themselves into butterflies as they fluttered further away from the base. It was one of the prettiest things young Drucy had ever seen, and she looked back up at George in astonishment.

"Don't thank me," he told her in mild amusement. "My wife designs the girlie stuff. Oh, and if you should ever happen by our shop…" He reached towards her ear and appeared to draw a small piece of paper out of it. She took it and realized that it was a coupon. "We have a second location in Hogsmeade," he told her with a wink, "and we will still be there when you reach third year, if you haven't managed to sneak out by then." With a swirl of his cloak, he straightened up and turned to go. "Oh," he told her over his shoulder, "keep the Butterfly Maker. It should last for about two months. When it dies, if you would be so kind as to write to me and let me know? I would appreciate it."

"Thank you…" Drucy finally remembered her manners, and he tipped his hat to her once more before striding away.

As the soft rain began to fall in earnest, Drucy no longer felt like crying along with it. She kept herself snuggled up against the shop wall, protected by the overhang of the roof, and watched glittery butterflies work their way out of the base one by one. She began to wonder what her mother was doing inside that shop now. She wiggled up for a moment to peek through the window. Mr. Ollivander was speaking quietly to her mother, with an earnest face, and her mother was nodding slowly from time to time. Relieved that her mother at least did not look angry, she settled down again just in time to see her sister approaching. "What on earth are you doing out here?" Esme asked. She now held an umbrella, warding off the misty rain.

"Where did you come from?" Drucy asked in astonishment, looking down the direction from which her sister had been approaching. "Were you… you weren't… were you in Knockturn Alley?" she asked in horror.

"Keep your voice down!" Esme murmured, shaking her head slightly. Then she sighed. "No, I wasn't in Knockturn Alley, what do you take me for?" At that, Drucy looked back at Esme unbelieving. The two sisters had been together for so long, she knew immediately when Esme was… lying. They looked at each other for a moment, then Esme cleared her throat. "Anyways. Why are you out here instead of getting your wand? And what's that?" she asked, pointing to the Butterfly Maker.

"I think I chose the wrong wand, or the wrong wand chose me, or something, and everyone got upset, and…" Drucy poured out the whole story. By the time she was finished, Esme was sitting beside her, holding the base for the Butterfly Maker and looking entirely sympathetic.

"I think you'll find it isn't as bad as it looks," Esme told her encouragingly. "Mom has to know that it wasn't your fault. Besides, it probably isn't even a bad thing. The wand has to know what it's doing. Mr. Ollivander won't lead her wrong, and he knows more about wandlore than anybody alive. If he doesn't think it's safe for you to use, he'll never sell it to you. And you really lucked out with this, what did he call it? Butterfly Maker? I've never seen one before. I don't think they sell them in the shop. You just might be testing his product for him. Hey, why don't I take you to see his shop? I'll ask Mom, and-"

But at that point, their mother exited the store. She had a rather strange look on her face, one that Drucy had never seen before, so she had no idea what it meant. Esme quickly handed the Butterly Maker back, pressing its button again to turn it off, and Drucy stowed it in her robes, not sure whether her mother would approve of it.

"Topsy," her mother said, and the family house-elf appeared. "Topsy, take these packages, and bring another umbrella for me and one for Drucy."

"Yes, Mistress," the elf said politely, and vanished with the packages. A moment later, she reappeared with the umbrellas and then vanished once more. Millicent Bulstrode, meanwhile, smiled at her girls. "Come on, let's finish with a treat. It's a little cold for ice cream, but you'll still enjoy it, right?"

As Drucy started to follow her mother away from the shop, she paused in horror. "Oh no! I forgot to give him extra for-"

"I did it," her mother said, the strange look returning to her face. "I gave him ten Galleons for your little friend. It'll buy any wand in the shop. …Almost any wand."

Drucy said nothing more, because she had felt it herself when her mother had handed the packages over to the house-elf… something like a warmth, almost like a personality…

Her mother had purchased the basilisk wand.


	5. Chapter 5: Awaiting the Future

_Neville Longbottom stood in the Headmaster's office. He had been out of Hogwarts for several years. He was a grown man, independent, and considered one of the bravest men from the Battle of Hogwarts. Somehow, however, whenever he faced McGonagall, he always felt like a little kid again, who had once again forgotten the password for Gryffindor Tower._

_"As you can see," McGonagall was telling him crisply, "Madame Sprout's retirement came at a most inopportune time. We are already introducing a new Transfiguration teacher, and our Defense against Dark Arts teacher has only been here for a couple of years. You are the perfect candidate. Your scores in Herbology are excellent, and you will be a familiar sight to many of the children who are starting this year, children of your own fellow students. You will have lodgings in the castle, and the job pays quite well."_

_Funny, this. Neville had not, in fact, applied for this job. He had received a letter asking him to kindly visit, and now she was talking as if the decision was already made and settled. "In addition to these duties," McGonagall continued, "you will become the new Head of Gryffindor House."_

_"Wait…" This startled Neville. "Me? Head of House? I-I… I mean… you… you were… and…"_

_"Yes, Longbottom, Head of House," she answered with that same crisp tone, and Neville felt as if he was back in Transfiguration Class. "It was permissible for me to oversee the House while we have been rebuilding and dealing with the losses of the War, but I cannot continue to be Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House. The Headmaster – or Headmistress – must be separate from the House system, because I must be the Headmistress of all of the students regardless of Sorting."_

_She took a moment to glare at the silent, still, innocuous-looking Sorting Hat. Neville had no idea why._

_"You need not arrive before September First, but you may wish to do so in order to re-familiarize yourself with the grounds and move into the Head of House living quarters," McGonagall said, and just like that, it was settled._

_And why not? Neville thought to himself, as he left her office, still feeling as if his head was spinning slightly. What was he doing with his life anyways? He'd wandered from job to job, looking for a purpose, hoping for a comfortable situation where he, Neville Longbottom specifically, was needed. Perhaps this was the place._

_As he left, McGonagall sat down in front of her desk and started checking paperwork. The Hat spoke drily. "And there he goes. A greater candidate for Hufflepuff I never knew, until I put him into Gryffindor. I hardly had the courage to try again after the failure of Pettigrew! But Longbottom was my realization into greatness. He is quite possibly the best Missort I ever made. When he first arrived, he was terrified of his own shadow, but in his final year, his courage was enough to produce Godric Gryffindor's sword from Godric Gryffindor's hat! And now look at him. Head of House."_

_"You know very well," McGonagall snapped irritably, "that he was the best candidate because he was the only candidate. The other Gryffindor graduates have been seeking their own fortune in entirely different places." She was all the more irritable because she knew that the Hat had a point; had she her pick of recent Gryffindorians, she probably would not have found one she preferred more than Neville. "Now hush. I have plenty of work to do without this silliness."_

_"As you wish, Headmistress," said the Hat, and it did not speak again for nearly an entire hour._

The Bulstrode family lived in a lovely, grand, Victorian house of the sort that was usually seen occupying a small patch of ground in the midst of a city. This one had been lifted from its original spot and placed in the middle of the country. The rain was still falling steadily outside the windows as Millicent ushered her children from the green-flamed fireplace into the drawing room. Esme immediately set out to find her father and tell him all about their trip. "Drucy," Millicent said. "Hold on for a moment."

Drucy wondered if her mother was going to explain that odd look on her face, or tell her what Ollivander had been discussing in his shop for all that time. She didn't. "Drucy, I got you the basilisk wand. I want you to practice with it every day. I want you to be entirely comfortable with it before you leave for Hogwarts. Alright? But when you're at Hogwarts, well… don't talk about your wand core. And remember…"

Drucy already knew the drill. "Don't speak Parseltongue."

"Why?" Drucy asked Esme, as the two sisters settled into their beds. Though their house was large, the two had shared a bedroom since before Drucy could remember, and she was glad. Her sister's presence comforted her when she was afraid of the dark. "Why doesn't Mom want me to speak Parseltongue? And what's wrong with my wand? Mr. Ollivander didn't seem to think there was anything bad about it."

"Haven't you been paying any attention?" Esme shook her head. "No, of course not. Look, Drucy. Parseltongue is rare, because the only family that has consistently produced them has been Slytherin itself. Just about a year before you were born, a Slytherin Parselmouth turned out to be one of the most evil wizards in history, and now everyone's all on edge about Slytherins, old pure-blood families, _and_ Parselmouths. We do as well as we do because Mom was smart enough to keep her head down and her mouth shut when everyone else was looking for someone to blame."

"It's not fair," Drucy grumbled. "Lumos." The basilisk wand lit obligingly. "I didn't do anything to any of them, and I don't want to. Why can't they just leave me alone?"

"That's not the way the world works," Esme sighed. "Look, follow Mom's advice, ok? She's smart. Smarter'n you and me. Smarter'n she looks. She's just looking out for you."

"Yeah…" Drucy sighed, and shook her hand slightly, extinguishing the wand. She put it on her nightstand next to the Butterfly Maker, which was sending sparkling butterflies up into the room. Her eyes closed slowly and she fell asleep.

Drucy startled awake when something stung her nose. When she opened her eyes, she couldn't see a thing in the room for all the sparkly butterflies floating around! As she sat up, another one flew into her face and dissipated with another slight sting. She waved her arms around, grumbling, until she had cleared enough butterflies to press the button and turn off the Butterfly Maker. The butterflies were still thick in the rest of the room, fluttering about and occasionally bursting into sparkles and dissipating as they hit various objects in the room… books, toys, furniture, curtains…

As five of the butterflies hit the curtain all at once, Drucy saw another few golden sparks appear and a small flame begin to feed on the cloth. "Esme!" she squeaked. "Esme, the curtain's on fire!"

"Aguamenti," her sister's sleepy voice said, and Drucy looked up to see her half-sitting in bed, a small stream of water exiting her wand, quickly extinguishing the flame. Drucy scooped up her own wand and, with an order of "Lumos", investigated the damage. It was only a small scorch mark.

"That's really neat," Drucy said, impressed. "Do you know how to make the butterflies go away?"

"Mm-mm," Esme murmured, shaking her head sleepily.

"Aguamenti," Drucy tried, pointing her wand. Nothing happened.

"That's an advanced charm," Esme said, putting her wand back down. There were only a few butterflies in the room now, and none of them were very close to each other. "I can't even do more than a little bit, and I've been practicing. Now go back to bed." With that, she put her head down and was soon fast asleep again.

Drucy lay back down, but she couldn't get back to sleep. Her mind was still humming with the events of the day. "I'm gonna get a drink of water," she said quietly, but her sleeping sister did not answer. Setting her wand back down beside her bed, she pulled on her robe and wandered out of the room. On her way to the kitchen, she saw light spilling out from under a doorway, and heard her parents speaking. She paused when she heard her father's voice raised. She never had heard her father sound anything but calm and cheerful, if slightly distant.

"What kind of world are we making for our children," he was asking, "if a girl can't even own a basilisk wand and speak Parseltongue without being marked as a villain? These things used to be the height of honor! In our grandparents' generation, she would be a genius and everybody would want to help her succeed."

Her mother's tone was sharp, but there was a certain, slight gentleness in it that she reserved for her husband and children most of the time. "The blowback is natural, it's to be expected, and it's just plain going to happen for a generation, maybe more. The world is partly what we made it, but we inherited our parents' fight, and we ended it. Drucy needs to understand that."

Her father murmured something she couldn't hear, and her mother answered back quickly. "Now you don't believe that, you never did. Do you know how I know that? Your daughter met a Muggle-born in poverty and her first thought was that she wanted to help him. She did, too. She laid out over half her own private spending money for him, with hardly any struggle at all."

"You said that Ollivander told you that would save her," Drucy's father said slowly. "That it was important, because of the basilisk wand. It would keep her from becoming the next great evil."

Her mother sighed. "I know, I know. She needs to be innocent, but that's going to get her trampled. She needs to be generous, but that's going to make her life more difficult. She has to be everything she is to master that wand, and she has to be everything she isn't to get through Hogwarts in one piece. I'm… frightened for her."

"Aww, it'll be alright," her father started to say, but Drucy heard no further. She hurried back to her room and buried herself in her bed, beginning to cry quietly in confusion and fear. Why couldn't the world be simple?


	6. Chapter 6: Hogwarts Express

_To: Drucilla Bulstrode_

_Thank you for your invaluable input into the practical application of the Butterfly Maker. The version released to the public will incorporate an automatic shutdown after approximately twenty minutes and a written warning that excessive butterflies may pose a slight risk of ignition. Meanwhile, if the problem occurs again, we recommend you attempt the _Deletrius_ spell._

_In gratitude, we hope that you will accept the enclosed gift of a small box of Cheering Chocolates – made from the finest milk chocolate and enchanted with a genuine cheering charm! Make a blue day bearable or a lovely day extraordinary! Officially endorsed by the Ministry for treatment of mild to moderate Dementor attacks._

_Thanks again,_

_Ron Weasley – Marketing Department and Department Head of Quality Control, Weasley Wizard Wheezes_

Drucy spent the next several days mostly in her room, practicing with the basilisk wand. The days continued to be rainy and miserable, and she had a great deal to think about. She was a little disappointed that her sister was too busy to sit and talk to her. Esme was definitely hiding something from her.

The two sisters had always been close, for as long as Drucy could remember. Esme never had complained about Drucy getting into her drawers or toy box. The few things that Esme owned that her sister could damage had been kept out of reach, but never out of sight. Even when Esme first prepared to go into Hogwarts, Drucy had been allowed to play in her trunk, feeling the robes and looking curiously at the beetle eyes in her potions kit. Now, however, the trunk was not only closed, but locked! Drucy did not bother to look up the unlocking skill or try to learn it, because her sister had never locked anything from her before, and now she felt that it would be a breach of trust. Meanwhile, Esme had started talking about that Slytherin kid again as the family sat together for mealtimes, and it frustrated Drucy to no end.

"That's a Muggle name," Drucy finally grumbled, earning a sharp rebuke from both her sister and her mother. "'Brian' is a perfectly good name. It was one of Dumbledore's names, you know," Esme retorted. Her mother's words were sharper. "Don't you say things like that, don't you ever say things like that. We have no problem with Muggles or Muggle-borns whatsoever." Indeed, Millicent Bulstrode had been very careful to keep any anti-Muggle sentiment away from her daughters. Unfortunately, her reaction to even the slightest hint of anti-Muggle sentiment taught them more than if she had simply ignored all but the most egregious kinds.

Drucy was both hopeful and nervous on the bright morning of the day that they would reach the Hogwarts Express. Her own trunk was packed with her clothing, her uniform, her school needs, and the Butterfly Maker. She spent a half hour deciding between the clothing to wear beneath her school robe before finally selecting a green dress. She knew she needed to be Sorted into Slytherin, and she felt that wearing the House colors on the train couldn't hurt, even if she preferred blue. Finally, as her sister was racing about trying to find her favorite hairbrush, Drucy took a moment to eye her green snake, which she'd been able to hide from her mother for several weeks now. "I can't leave you here," she decided. "You're tame now, and I can't bring you back to the wild." Drucy shrugged. "Come on then, Jade," she ordered, and the little snake obediently crept up her arm, settling on her shoulder.

Her mother was very quiet on the trip to the platform. Her father had actually agreed to venture out from their home, and he was full of cheer. It seemed that seeing both of his girls at Hogwarts meant a lot to him. Drucy drew closer to him as they reached the platform, and suddenly wished she could go back home. "Daddy," she said quietly, hoping that her mother and sister would not hear. "What if Hogwarts is the wrong place for me? What if they hate me? What if I can't make it there?"

Her father squatted slightly to reach her height and smiled at her. "Oh Sweetheart," he said consolingly. "You'll have a lovely time. Hogwarts is a lovely place. I saw it myself, when I was a student at Durmstrang, during the Triwizard Tournament. I always wished I'd have gone there myself. You've got your sister to look after you. You'll be alright."

"What if I'm not?" Drucy persisted. "What if I can't..."

He smiled. "Honey, give it... give it at least until Christmas, alright? If you come home for Christmas break and you can't bear to go back, then we'll find another option, I promise you. We'll enroll you elsewhere, or teach you at home."

Drucy looked up at him, one lingering fear in her mind. "But if Mom won't..."

"Listen," her father told her, his gaze changing. She was used to seeing him smiling or brooding, easy-going or tired, all edges soft. Now, though, she suddenly saw a strength that she hadn't even guessed that he'd had. "I let your mother run the household because it pleases her, and she's very good at it. Mind, you, though, I am lord of my own manor, and I do have the final say. If she sulks and won't teach you, I'll do it myself... but if you need to come home, you will be home." Then he smiled brightly. "You'll be okay. Don't be afraid. Enjoy yourself! Now go on..."

Drucy suddenly gave her father the biggest, tightest hug she could, and she felt Jade the snake shift quickly out of the way as her father held her tight just for a moment longer. Then it was time to climb aboard and hurry through the train, looking for a place where she could wave to her parents until she could no longer see them.

As the train chugged along and the platform shrank into the distance, Drucy withdrew from the window and started looking for a compartment. Most of them were already full. She looked for her sister, but she couldn't find her. Finally, near the end of the train, she peeked into one compartment to see a familiar sight. Daniel Jacobs was sitting alone on the cushioned bench, swinging his legs slightly, already wearing his Hogwarts robe. He was the only person she'd recognized, and she slipped into the compartment with a deep sense of relief. Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived.

Daniel looked up at her and his eyes instantly narrowed. "It's you," he said. "I know what you were doing. I don't need your charity. I don't want your pity. You spoiled rich girl, you thought you could just throw some money around and make everyone grateful to you?"

Drucy stared at him for a moment, her mouth open. "How did you know?" was the first thing she managed to say. Even then, she was pretty sure it wasn't the right response.

"I'm not stupid, Drucy," Daniel told her fiercely. "I can do math. I knew I didn't have enough, and the shopkeepers just gave me this pitying look each time they told me it was fine. Old Ollivander just outright laughed at me and told me I could pick out any wand in the shop, it was already paid for! He _laughed_ at me." His eyes narrowed. "My friendship is not for sale."

Drucy felt hot. "I wasn't trying to buy your friendship, you idiot," she told him, stung to insulting him and only feeling half as sorry as she thought she ought to be. "I wasn't buying anything. I just wanted to make your way a little.. well..."

"Easier?" he challenged. "I'm not a wimp." That was it, she realized. His pride was hurt.

"...Like mine," she finally concluded, and it was his turn to stare at her. He opened his mouth again, and just then the door to their compartment slid open to reveal a boy who was a head taller than Daniel and two heads taller than Drucy.

"New kid, are ya?" the boy guessed, looking at Daniel. He was nearly as broad as he was tall. "And Muggle-born by the looks of you. You'll want to stay away from the riff-raff. The garbage. I can help you out there," he sneered, risking a glance at Drucy.

Drucy glared back. Garbage? "Excuse me," she retorted. "Who are you?"

"I don't talk to slimy Slytherins," the boy answered, and Drucy felt herself getting hot again. "They're beneath you too, kid. Stick with me and I'll keep you away from them. They'll just chew you up and spit you out."

Daniel spoke. Drucy looked at him wonderingly, because he had been nearly shouting at her, but now his voice was cool, calm, and quiet. "This girl has been nothing but kind to me," he told the newcomer, "and I haven't heard anything out of your mouth but ugliness."

The boy bristled. "I'm going to be in Gryffindor, just you wait and see! And when she's in stinking Slytherin, you'll see for yourself who's the better friend!"

"Sorry," Daniel responded, his voice still scarily calm. "I missed the part where I asked you for your help. I can figure it out for myself, thanks."

"Matt Briar!" With a throb of hope, Drucy recognized her sister's haughty voice. "Matthias Briar, are you causing trouble again?" Esme stood only slightly taller than the boy, who turned to face her in the hallway. He muttered something about 'slimy Slytherin' again, and Esme promptly answered him. "That's right. And I am Bellatrix Lestrange's granddaughter, so just think about that for a moment. I won't hesitate to light you up if you are that desperate to fight. And if you continue to harass my little sister, you'll get more fight than you bargained for."

It worked. Matt Briar scuttled away, and Esme entered the compartment with a satisfied grin on her face. "Drucy, you need to learn to fluff out your feathers a bit, kid. We've been dealt a bad hand, but nothing's stopping us from playing it to the hilt." Then she sighed, sprawling down in the corner. "I know you won't take that advice, you're not built for it. I'll take care of you."

"I don't understand," Daniel admitted, sounding a bit less sure of himself now, as he sat down opposite Esme. "Why does he think you're going to be in Slytherin, Drucy?"

"Hoo boy," Esme said, mildly amused. "We're going to have to start from the beginning with this one."


End file.
